


Where is My Mind?

by EagleEye14



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-06-19
Updated: 2012-06-21
Packaged: 2017-11-08 02:43:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/438263
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EagleEye14/pseuds/EagleEye14
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Stiles in injured in the chaos of the Alpha battle, the wolves of Beacon Hills must sit back and watch him fight a battle with an even more frightening opponent: his mind. A Derek/Stiles story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Stiles and Jackson jumped from the car, flame grenades at the ready. Stiles took in the sight of the clearing outside of the Hale house. It looks like a battlefield, his friends thrown about, struggling to get up as a ferocious grey monster stood amongst them, seeming torn between who to attack first.

Stiles took a step forward, brought his arm back and aimed, hoping with all his might that his grenade would hit its intended target. Soaring through the air, it was heading straight at the alpha, an almost guaranteed hit…until the alpha turned saw the incoming projectile. Feigning to the right, the beast avoided the bottle and set its gaze on Stiles.

The alpha moved faster than anyone in the clearing could have anticipated. Peter Hale jumped in one giant leap to the car that Stiles and Jackson stood by, swiping one claw at the more athletic man, sending him sprawling to the ground. The beast then turned to Stiles. Stiles was paralyzed with fear, the red orbs freezing him in his place.

It happened slowly. The world started to fade around him, smells and sights and noises began to dim. He could vaguely hear Derek screaming, Scott too, but there was something in Derek's voice, a different kind of fear. He could feel the alpha pin him to the ground, could see him raise his claw, poised to strike. It was that moment in which everything fell away, and Stiles was gone, trapped within his own mind.

Derek had jumped from his spot on the ground, his feet racing to where his uncle was hunched over Stiles. Without thinking, Derek sunk his claws in the side of the alpha's neck. The beast staggered at first, and tried to turn and aim it's poised claw at Derek, but Derek dragged his claws across the beast's throat, watching the life ebb away.

Everyone in the clearing would later remember the way that Derek had acted right after that moment. He had stared at his claw, his eyes had flashed the same unforgiving red that had once lit his uncle's eyes, before he had dropped to his knees beside Stiles, frantically trying to get the attention of the young man who stared off into the distance.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

Derek, Scott and Stiles's dad crowded around the prone form of Stiles Stilinski. Derek had rushed the boy to the hospital, surprising all those who knew him with his concern. Scott had explained the werewolf factor to the sheriff, and now the group awaited word from the doctors, one of whom had walked into the door with a somber expression. The doctor had been bombarded with dozens of questions, and answered as many as he could. Before leaving the room, he gave a general summary of Stile's condition.

"He sustained a pretty heavy blow to the head. He's lucky be alive," the doctor said, giving everyone in the room a moment to process what he just said.

Sherriff Stilinksi took a shuddering breathe before asking the question which had plagued everyone's mind since they had entered the hospital room. "Is he going to be okay?"

The doctor hesitated, a move that did not go unnoticed by Derek and Scott, before he expanded on his earlier diagnosis. "Yes and no. His vitals are strong, and he is young and healthy, which gives a great outlook."

"Then what's the problem," Derek said, tired of the evasiveness.

Startled by the forwardness of the Derek's words, he looked to other people occupying the room but found no sympathy. "He's in shock. Deep shock. It's call catatonia."

"So . . . he's in a coma?" Scott asked. Derek could detect the slight tremor in the young wolf's heartbeat, and was sure that Scott could detect the irregularity in his heartbeat as well.

"No, he's awake. What differs here is that while Mr. Stilinksi is conscious, he is not aware of his surroundings. He won't respond to external stimuli," the doctor answered.

Derek could smell the tears gathering in the sheriff's eyes, could see the glossy coat of moisture gathering in his eyes. The older man stood suddenly, startling Scott, and excused himself, stating there were some other things he needed to look into to before the night was over. The doctor followed him, intent on explaining Stiles's condition in more detail.

Scott gave the sheriff a nod as he left and took the seat a few spaces away from Derek and Stiles. Silence remained thick in the air between the two conscious boys. Scott watched Derek, amazed at the soft look in his eyes as he stared at Stiles.

"He shouldn't have been there," Derek said, breaking the silence, looking anywhere but at Scott.

"No, he shouldn't have," Scott agreed, then continued. "But that's who he is. Bat-shit crazy, can barely keep his attention on something for more than ten minutes, but always willing to help."

Scott sat down next to Derek and patted his shoulder. Derek looked over at him, and for the first time that evening, Scott, dense, practically failing all of his classes Scott, understood the haunted look that painted Derek's face.

Derek Hale was in love with Stiles.

Rather than jump up and exclaim his latest discovery, Scott shrunk in his seat and gave Derek his space, ready to offer comfort if the need arose. Sighing, he looked from Derek, wondered was going through his mind, and then turned to Stiles, equally curious as to what was going through the young man's mind.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

He was trapped. On some level, he knew was trapped in some twisted nightmare, unable to escape, no matter how hard he tried. He was being forced to run through some dark forest, his greatest fear following him, pushing his body to perform at level he had never before achieved.

Every muscle in his body ached. He could feel the trees and bushes scratching his face and arms, drawing blood and eliciting pain, making it that much harder to run. His feet felt on fire, not used to such exertion. But he couldn't stop. It was right behind him. A beast that caused his heart to stutter and fear to sky-rocket.

Picking up his pace, he tried to run faster, dodging as many branches as he could. The beast was gaining on him, getting closer and closer. A loud howl broke his concentration and the next thing he knew he was soaring through the air, foot caught under the twisted root of a tree.

Whimpering, he tried to move his foot, groaning the second he attempted to roll his ankle. Backing up against the tree, he took in his surroundings

There, not thirty feet from him, crouching in the underbrush, hunched as if waiting for the perfect moment to strike, stood a werewolf with bright red eyes. Teeth bared, it reared back, preparing to strike.

Stiles closed his eyes, desperately wishing to take up from this nightmare. Begging and pleading with any deity that came to mind to be able to leave this world, to be able to see his dad or Scott or…Derek one more time. Bracing himself, he awaited the signs that the beast was getting ready to move in. Moments later, he heard the sound of claws digging into the ground. Again, closing his eyes, Stiles awaited the darkness.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

Derek sat perched in the plastic hospital chair stationed next to Stile's bed. The sheriff and Scott had left long ago. The sheriff to the burned out shell of his once majestic family home to deal with the bodies of Kate Argent and Peter Hale. He had taken the existence of werewolves and hunters rather well, and once he learned that it was Derek that had brought about his uncle, the man who had put Stiles in the hospital, he was more than willing to help cover the crime. Allison's parents, absent of grief and filled with remorse for the lost lives of the Hale family, were helping the sheriff sort through the mess.

Scott had gone to touch base with Jackson, seeking news of Lydia. Reporting back to Derek, he explained the young genius's condition. Things were tense between the two, but Scott had pushed his feelings of betrayal to the backburner, understanding on some level why Derek reacted the way he had to his uncle mauling Stiles.

It was just Derek now. So alone and so full of fear. Afraid that he would lose the only person he truly cared about left, and that it could happen before he had the chance to tell him. Exhaling a deep breathe hard, he moved to the bed and gently threaded his fingers through Stiles's unresponsive ones.

"You're going to make it through this Stiles." he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. Looking at the door and listening to see if anyone was near, he leaned down and placed a chaste kiss on his boy's forehead. A tear dropped from his eyes and landed on the still boy's cheek. "I need you to break out of this Stiles. I need you," Derek whimpered out, his grief finally escaping the confines he had worked so hard to build.

In Stiles's hospital room, Derek Hale finally mourned the loss of his family, the loss of his sister Laura and even the death of his uncle, driven mad by the actions of prejudiced bigots. He wept, he whimpered; he never felt so weak. Holding the hand of the boy he loved, he mourned what might never be, and swore to everyone in existence if he could have the boy back he would dedicate his life to showing Stiles just how amazing he truly was.

For years he had fought this, fought the urge to cry and move on, and finally it was a battle he lost. A battle that had ended while the center of Derek's universe began his own battle: a war within his own mind.


	2. Chapter 2

It was his own personal hell. He felt lost and so alone. This place was torture. Every minute, every second: pure torture.

Watching Stiles lay there, eyes open, unseeing, doing nothing, slowly obliterated Derek. He had been there for the last week, every day, sitting beside Stiles, desperate to see some reaction. The sheriff stopped by periodically, always bringing food for the wolf. No words were ever exchanged between the men, both preferring to avoid talking. The confused look that had painted Mr. Stilinksi's when he first acknowledge Derek's constant vigilance had melted into one of sympathy and gratitude.

Scott and Jackson were also regular visitors, though their visits were more sporadic and much shorter. They understood that Stiles was in a state of deep shock, but were unnerved by the way that Stiles's eyes remained open.

It unnerved Derek too. He was so used to seeing those eyes filled with expression and warmth, and even fear, that the blankness was just … so wrong.

The sound of light knocking pulled Derek from his thoughts. Turning towards the door, he was faced with the battle-scarred Lydia Martin. Bruises blemished her once flawless skin and cuts and scratches were woven in a fascinatingly morbid pattern on the expanses of exposed skin. She favored her left side, almost cradling it. Derek recalled that she had been bitten on there, and vaguely recalled that he should look into why she was alive and still human, but couldn't bring himself to care.

Lydia nodded and gave an uncharacteristic smile before she hobbled towards Stiles. Derek's body tensed, remembering that this was the girl that Stiles had talked about the entire time they had known each other. Lydia's demeanor remained soft as she watched Stiles.

"He saw the real me," she whispered. Derek's eyes snapped to hers, a growl building in his throat at the soft expression painted across her face.

Unaware of the storm brewing the werewolf, she continued. "I've put so much time, years actually, pushing down everything that sets me apart. And no one, not even Jackson, saw through it," she said, her words slow, broken at some points, a combination of emotion and exhaustion slowing her down. "But he just breezed right through my defenses and … found me."

"He has a talent for that," Derek gruffly said, recalling all of the times the young man had unknowingly cheered him up or made it hard to not smile.

Lydia turned her critical eye on him. She looked at Derek for a few minutes. He suddenly understood why Stiles found her so interesting: there was a lot more to the girl than the world had noticed.

"He's going to be fine," Lydia said, staring into Derek's eyes. Despite everything she had been through, her strength and confidence rang through out her words, her belief reflected in her eyes.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

It was his own personal hell. He felt lost and so alone. This place was torture. Every minute, every second: pure torture.

Stiles felt like he was destined to play out the same scenario over and over again. Forced to run for his life as a gigantic wolf chased him, only to be cornered and prepared for slaughter, it was soul-destroying. Every time he closed his eyes, right before he was certain that the wolf's fangs were going to rip into him, he was met with long stretches of nothingness.

At first Stiles thought he had died, that this void was what the afterlife was like. Then he would open his eyes and find himself in the same forest, the beast absent. He had felt joy, relief. Looking around, he had risen from his defensive crouch and had begun to walk away.

It only took moments before he would hear the wolf growl and then the same scenario played out, the only variance being how Stiles was cornered. Some times he tripped, other times he ran until he couldn't run anymore.

He lived in an abusive cycle. Stiles had lost count of how many times this nightmare played out. The only thing he was sure of was that wherever his mind led him, it was not a happy place. Tall, ominous trees and an endless night, the only light being that of the full-moon which glared from it's place in the heavens.

Then there were the moments where he would close his eyes right before he was sure that the current attack was going to be the last one, the final cycle. He had thought to die this way was cruel; now he would think death merciful. During those moments this world was frozen, like it was rewinding and setting the stage for the next show.

It was during those moments that Stiles took comfort. It was those moments where Stiles understood that he was no longer in reality, that he was a slave to what seemed to be an endless nightmare. And he then he could remember. Faces, sometimes names, would flit through his thoughts. They were quickly fading; time moved differently in this nightmare world. There was no way to tell how long he had been there … or how long he would remain.

He clung to those faces. He knew they defined him, he knew they were important. The faces gave him comfort, a reason to keep running. The longer he kept his eyes closed, the longer he could see them.

But, eventually, he had to open his eyes, and the nightmare resumed full force, like now. Stiles found himself crouched, in the clearing where his dream always reset. Standing, he took a few steps, waiting for the tell-tale sign of the beast.

He wasn't disappointed. A loud growl tore through the clearing, making the hairs on Stiles neck stand on end. Letting out a strangled sob, Stiles took off, likes he always did, the beast not far behind. He begged silently for mercy, to wake up; he even begged for death. He begged for his father and the fading face of his mother to give him strength. He begged for help from whoever Scott McCall or Lydia Martin was. He begged for the beautiful raven-haired man to save him.

No help came. In Stiles's world, help never came.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

Lydia stood beside Stiles a little while longer, affectionately gazing down at his blank face. Derek was bothered by the emotion in her look, but kept quiet.

"How are you?" she questioned, limping away from Stiles's bed and towards the seat next to Derek.

"I'm fine," Derek replied gruffly, not used to someone asking him that question.

Letting out a huff, Lydia turned in her seat and fixed her gaze on Derek. "Don't lie to me," she said, continuing despite the glare Derek shot her. "I'm a lot smarter than people give me credit for. Actually, I'm a lot smarter than most people, present company not excluded."

Derek could feel the familiar tingling in his eyes begin to grow, knowing they were seconds away from igniting into the bright electric blue hue that colored them whenever he was angry. "Do you want a repeat of the dance?" he threatened.

Lydia balked for a second, images from the night of her attack assaulting her senses. Derek watched as she closed her eyes and breathed deeply, an emotion akin to remorse blooming in his chest. He knew how imposing wolves could be, and to have to face off against an alpha would be a great deal more intimidating for a human. But the second she opened her eyes he had new found respect for the woman. She wasn't going to back down, no matter how scary he seemed.

Stiles was the same way.

"I don't know how to feel," Derek said as he stared at Stiles's open eyes.

Lydia was quiet before she broke the silence. "How long have you been in love with him?" she questioned. She thought she was going to receive no response, that Derek was going to ignore her or turn and take a swipe at her. She was surprised when she received an answer instead.

"Since I laid eyes on him," Derek said, his voice emotionless.

"Love at first sight?" Lydia asked, trying to keep things as light as possible, afraid she might scare the wolf off.

"I looked into his eyes and saw so much light and life," Derek said. "He drove me crazy, can be annoying as hell and can't stay focused for more than minute, but he was perfect. And I was afraid of that. That I would let myself want it and that like everything else, it would be taken away from me. Now I won't ever get to tell him that. That I love him. That I want him and only him."

Lydia's breathes were ragged, strain and surprise both a contributing factor. "Quit saying that," the redhead said, her anger evident in her tone. Derek turned towards, his face still blank. "Don't talk about him in the past-tense Derek. He is going to come through this. I bet you he is going to jump up and start talking any minute," Lydia confidently said.

Derek turned back to look at Stiles's, praying for just that to happen, wishing that some divine force would help him, would bring Stiles back to him.

No help came. In Derek's world, help never came.


	3. Chapter 3

In her time as a nurse, Melissa McCall had seen thousands of family members stand guard over their loved ones as they recovered. It went with the territory and the environment; people needed reassurance that the people they loved were still with them, that they were still fighting.

Friends tended to hold the injured hands or attempted to make them laugh.

Parents fought tears while they whispered promises and accolades in broken voices.

Children stared, lost in thoughts of better times and fears of the unknown.

It was lovers that had the most complex reaction. Some cried, some laughed; sometimes there would be angry outbursts at doctors or nurses, threats of lawsuits flying amid words meant to cut, or sometimes there would be emotional outburst comprised of screaming and begging, bargaining with deities and gods for another chance.

But they all had one thing in common. The lost look in their eyes, unsure of what to do or how to help.

It was Melissa McCall's experience that allowed her to see and know such a soft side of Derek. For Derek Hale sat at the bedside of Stiles Stillinski day after day, staring at the unaware boy, silently pleading.

And every day he was met with the same result and Melissa got to right the same thing on Stiles's chart:

No progress.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

He was running, again. He shifted between running the second his nightmare started and seeing how long the beast would wait before it attacked. Sometimes he was lucky and was given a slight reprieve in the form of a couple extra minutes of rest before the beast started its hunting process again. Most times the beast came right at him, giving him no mercy. Sometimes he would run. Sometimes we would try to fight. Sometimes he would just stay still and let the beast unleash its fury.

He could never remember the face of the beast, although it was becoming increasingly clearer as the nightmare in which he found himself played over and over. The beast's eyes were its most haunting feature: bright red orbs that followed Stile's every move.

Stiles could feel the burn the gaze left on his skin; the eyes alone gave him the energy he need to keep running. Like now, as Stiles ran through the blur of trees and the blanket of light that only a full moon could deliver, the red eyes gave him strength to continue.

This time things were different, though. Memories were assaulting, nameless faces plaguing him, a continuous void left where knowledge should have made its home. And the beast. The beast with wolf-like features was clearer, the clarity taunting him so cruelly. He could make out every feature, could see the fangs.

His legs were tiring, which meant one thing: the beast was going to catch him again. Like clockwork, Stiles felt the blow to the back of his, could hear the ringing, could feel his body ache as he hit the forest floor. He laid there for a moment, listening the deep breathes of the wolf-creature. Slowly, he rose to rest on his knees and faced the monster, surprised that for the first time the monster was so vivid, so real.

The beast above him shrank until a mere man stood above him. Dark features, bulging muscles and brooding red eyes stared down at him. The man's fangs stayed elongated, growls occasionally slipping from his mouth. He watched Stiles like a predator would watch its prey.

In all his nightmares before the beast would catch him he would wake up to find the scene play over. Never before had he been confronted with this hauntingly familiar figure. Stile's heart felt like it would shoot straight from his chest. His body was alight with fear. Whimpering, he tried to slowly back up.

The man only growled louder. Raising his arm, Stiles watch with horror as the man's hand became sharp, thick claws. Breathing deeply, Stiles tried to back up again only for the man to move even closer.

Stiles could feel a name at the back of his, trying desperately to make its way to his mouth. He knew on some level that he knew this man. This man would never hurt him, right?

"Please don't hurt me. Please, I just want to go home. I don't really know where that is or where the hell I am, but I just want to go home," Stiles begged, closing his eyes, waiting for the nightmare to replay.

He could handle the running and the fear, he couldn't handle this familiar stranger and the danger he presented. The man raised his hand and in a flash, a name and dozens of memories crashed through his brain like a freight train. This was no stranger. This was Derek Hale, his friend (a title that the wolf in question was unaware of).

"Derek," Stiles whispered, his voice broken. "Derek, it's me. It's Stiles."

The man let loose a deafening roar, his eyes going blood red. Stiles shrunk from the sound, bracing himself for whatever was going to come.

Derek raised his arm high, as if he was taking aim, his claws lengthening. Again letting loose a roar, he brought his hand down upon Stiles.

~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~(*)~

Derek met Melissa's eyes as she entered the hospital room, moving to Stiles's bed, checking the machines that had been attached to the teen.

"The doctors say that he is probably off in dreamland," Melissa said, offering Derek a warm-hearted smile as she went about her work.

"I hope wherever he is, that he is happy," Derek muttered, unused to being approached by someone so friendly.

Melissa nodded but writing things down on Stiles's chart. She turned to Derek and noticed his haggard appearance. "Is there anything I can get you," she asked.

"No thanks," Derek said, rising from his seat and moving towards the door. "I actually have to get going."

"You should take some time for yourself Derek. Give yourself some time to yourself," Melissa said, fluffing Stiles's pillow, taking a moment a caress his forehead. She looked down at him tenderly and turned to give Derek a sad smile. "If there is any change, I am sure you will be one of the first to know."

Derek nodded and exited the room. As he left the hospital he pushed Stiles to the back of his mind, or as far back as his mind would allow (which wasn't very far, in fact). Hitting the street, he began to roll through his mind, faces of Beacon Hills teens and a new instinct to expand (courtesy of the Alpha in him) merging to give the brooding werewolf a new mission.

The lacrosse player who wanted to nothing more than to be extraordinary.

The boy's eyes that told the story of a life of abuse and neglect.

The blonde girl who wanted to go through life without having to worry about whether her brain would malfunction at the worst time.

The desperate boy who craved friendship and companions.

Yes, there was plenty for Derek to do while he waited for Stiles to wake up. While his young mate floated through prison his mind had created, Derek would be busy building a pack for which Stiles could wake up to.


End file.
